


Hazy Dreams

by phoenixjustice



Series: Reality Dreams [3]
Category: That Guy with the Glasses
Genre: M/M, gunpr0n, implied Ask That Guy/Nostalgia Critic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:25:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixjustice/pseuds/phoenixjustice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sometime post-Kickassia.</p><p>Step by step, they were delving deeper into a web of things they did not yet understand. Truth was elusive, but starting to make its way closer. For the Critic, things started out simply; he wanted to do a review...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hazy Dreams

Kinks:

 **Asphyxiation** ( _autoerotic asphyxiation_ )

 **Guns and gun-play** ( _guns as fetish objects_ )

 **Power issues** ( _a character kneeling beneath a desk and blowing someone_ )  


  
  : :: :

 

He closes the door behind him, ready to get the next review done and over with; it had been a trying week as it was, and with what he was getting ready to review, it was about to be that much more of a trying one. Things had been...a little strange as well. His phone call to Spoony had gone completely unanswered and he only managed to get a hold of Linkara once--out of the many times he had called--and the comic reviewer had been distant and short on the phone, leaving him to wonder just what the hell was up.

 

 

He shakes his head, trying to put his wondering thoughts behind him, moving over to his desk. The cloth over it was a new one; long and blue which touched the floor. He had had to get a new one after That Guy had done some unspeakable things to the old one. He turns on his camera and sits down, hands crossed.

 

 

"Hell _o,_ I'm the Nostalgia Critic--I remember it so you don't have to!"

 

He lets out a sigh. "Not _all_ cartoons back in the nineties were just for the kiddies--hell some of them were probably _more_ for the teenagers and adults than children. One of the great cartoons of the day was Batman: The Animated Series. It had a dark version of Gotham, reminding you of Frank Miller's comics (back before he went totally batshit insane) and mixed it with--!" He stops midsentence, letting out a gasp as he feels something poke against his stomach from beneath the desk.

 

 

He starts to look down but gets interrupted. "Stay where you are. Don't look. Keep going with your review. I'll try to keep...distractions...down to a minimum." Who the hell was that talking? It sounded familiar, _really_ familiar, but he couldn't place it.

 

 

He gulps slightly, voice shaking a bit. "Batman was...done brilliantly by . He did something back then for the first time which is now commonplace; he voiced Bruce Wayne and Batman differently. He gave Bruce Wayne the carefree voice of the playboy billionaire that was his mask to the public. While he gave Batman a--" His breath hitches as he feels a hand touch under his shirt, his stomach flinching at the contact.

 

 

He starts to reach down without thinking, and the object pushes against his stomach. As it touches the naked flesh underneath his shirt, he realizes it's a gun. He had thought that That Guy had no guns of his own, which is why he borrowed all of his, using them for their...games. Well--maybe.. He did think that he recognized the voice, so it could be...

 

 

"What are you doing down there, ATG? How many times have I told you not to bother me when I'm doing a revie--" He stops as he hears the safety of the gun turned off.

 

 

"That Guy is off terrorizing some hookers, you needn't worry about him." The underlying statement of who he _should_ worry about seemed pretty clear to the Nostalgia Critic.

 

 

"What do you want with me?" he asks.

 

 

"Hmm." the voice seemed to be pondering this. "What indeed..."

 

 

He stills as the gun gets replaced by two warm hands. They unbutton his jeans and start to slowly lower the zipper. He was a little ashamed to realize that he was already quite hard. The feeling of a gun pressed close to him--or doing so to others--had always been a turn-on for him. Something that someone like That Guy knew all too well--and wouldn't mind telling others (as long as it benefitted himself.)

 

 

The person underneath the desk could be just about anyone and his slight fear was mixed with curiosity and arousal. The hands that were touching him now did not hesitate; not with the gun or with undoing another man's pants. He at least knew it was a man by the tone of the person's voice. As his pants open, one of the hands moves over his erection, causing him to gasp.

 

 

"Lift up your hips." the voice mutters.

 

 

He finds himself doing so without even really realizing it, wondering why he was being so compliant. The gun presses up against him again. Oh. That was why. The pants come down his hips, his legs, and were quickly off of him. He felt rather exposed--though he supposed that was to be expected--and rather thankful that the new cloth he had gotten for the desk covered it completely.

 

 

He has no time to get used to it as a hot, wet mouth dives in and engulfs his arousal, causing him to cry out. Holy Santa Christ it felt _good_. No, _better_ than good. Hands hold his legs in place as he feels that devil mouth move up and down his cock. A tongue slides down the length before encircling the head, sucking on it gently.

 

 

His hands twitch, longing to grab that head underneath the desk and just _thrust_ into that mouth. The man said he couldn't look down, he didn't say anything about not being able to _touch_ him at all. His hands move down and the man's mouth halts as he moves his hands into his hair. It felt pretty nice, if a bit coarse. As his hands glide through the hair, the mouth on his cock suddenly picks up its pace, making him moan as he finds himself getting close to coming.

 

 

Perhaps the man could sense it, for he moves ever quicker, one hand moving from his legs to fondle his balls, squeezing them softly.

 

He shudders, nearing his peak, but it isn't until the man squeezes quite hard does he groan loudly and come, the man's mouth taking it all in. He sits back in his chair, panting, eyes closed. He hadn't had that good of a blowjob in a long time, if at all.

 

 

"Keep your eyes closed," the voice warns him. He feels the gun pressed up against him again, and a spark of arousal hits him. He felt too drained to argue anyway, so he keeps his eyes closed as his chair gets pushed up against the wall, as he feels the man move from under the desk. He feels a hand pluck the glasses from his face, being replaced by a soft cloth.

 

 

"So what now, hmm? Perhaps a little gun-play? Or should I just throw you onto the desk and fuck you so hard you can't sit for a week?" He shivers at the voice; it was low and the man knew how to use it. Oh, god it wasn't _Snob_ here was it? But no; that man had a Voice that you recognized immediately. "So many options; so little time..."

 

 

Hands move to remove his shirt and jacket, leaving the tie where it was (his hat had been knocked off long ago.) He feels the slide of cloth against his skin, but jumps as he feels naked skin against his own; apparently the man was wearing a coat or some such and nothing else. He shivers as the cold steel of the gun moves against his chest.

 

 

"What should I do with you?" the voice murmurs, moving to sit in his naked lap, mouth close to his ear. "I can't be a copycat. I have to be _original._ I have to make you want _me_ and me alone. Could I pull that off, do you think?" His cock twitches as the man's tongue licks around his ear.

 

 

Critic had no idea what to say to that. His head was still fuzzy after the blowjob. Hips move against his, the friction starting to reawaken his cock. He felt the silkiness of the other man's cock as it glided against him. It felt pretty good, but--

 

 

"It isn't enough." the man groans. "Just more of the same. Perhaps..."

 

 

A mouth suddenly moves over his and he finds himself responding automatically to it. Jesus--the man knew more things to do with tongue than there were bad Twilight books. As he feels the man pull back, the cloth gets removed and he sees just who it is who had been doing all of these things.

 

 

"Doctor Insano!"

 

 

He lunges forward, pushing Insano onto the desk, hands gripping around the man's throat. The man merely laughs.

 

 

"Now _that_ is more like it." said Insano, making no move to remove the Critic's hands from his throat.

 

 

He bucks up against Critic, lab coat and goggles the only thing he wore, who moves on top of him. What the hell was the damned scientist _doing_ here? He barely even interacted with him, other than when they had all taken over Kickassia. And that Insano was a Spoony that had been pushed too far. This was the Insano that had already been around. He knew the difference; even if Spoony wasn't taking his calls he had someone over there to check up on him and Spoony looked the same as ever--Insano had been puttering around in his basement lab.

 

 

So why now? If he _really_ wanted to get revenge for Kickassia, then why wait so long to do so?

 

 

"I can see...those wheels in your head turning, Critic." wheezed Insano. He pushes his hands down harder and Insano gasps.

 

"Just...what does...he want, you wonder."

 

 

He moves up against the scientist, unable to stop himself, and really not caring to at this point. _Insano_ had been the one to start this, after all. But damn, he never knew the scientist could be so...

 

 

Before he can even blink, Insano pulls his hands away and suddenly _he_ is the one lying on the desk. He could see the angry red marks against the man's neck and finds himself a little turned on from it, not ashamed. He was used to rough play; it was how he liked it. So when Insano turns the tables and puts _his_ hands on the Critic's throat a moment later, the Critic lets out a breathy moan.

 

 

Insano moves one of the hands, rummaging in one of his coat pockets for something. It looked like a small bottle of lubrication. He lets out a small sound as the man moves his other hand away. Insano smirks, as if guessing his thoughts. He jumps slightly as he feels a sudden intrusion enter his body. It wasn't long before another finger was added.

 

 

Well at least the man was taking time to prepare him--That Guy forgot to half the time. The fingers are gone and a moment later are replaced with the man's cock. His legs are pushed up and Insano thrusts hard inside of him. He cries out.

 

 

"Good." purrs Insano. The man's voice really should not have sounded as sexy as it did. "I don't have to be so _gentle_ with you." He is good on his word and continues to thrust hard into him. The angle he was in on the desk seemed to be almost perfect--hitting spots inside him that had him seeing white behind his eyes with almost every thrust.

 

 

He moves his hand to touch his cock, needing that extra feeling, that friction. He sees the man looking down at his cock before looking at him. Insano grins.

 

 

"I thought about it--but I realized that watching you touch yourself while I fuck you would be that much more hotter."

 

 

The combination of the man thrusting into him, his voice, and with his own hand helping him along, he finds himself coming once more, pushing down again and again on the man's cock, hearing Insano let out a shout as he too comes, hands a vice on his hips as he thrust deeply inside him. White splattered their bodies as they both breathe hard. Insano moves out of him.

 

 

There is silence for a few moments. Then the scientist speaks once more.

 

 

"Perhaps its a good thing cameras are inanimated objects--or I do believe it would be blushing." Critic's eyes pop open, widening as he realizes that the camera was still on. Insano smirks, leaning down. "I think we should chalk this one down for _science_ , don't you?"

 

 

Before he can answer, Insano snaps his fingers.

 

 

He awakens with a gasp. He looks around and finds himself, not in his room where he did reviews, but in the bar in his house where ATG had taken to doing his own reviews. He stands, realizing he was quite clothed, and starts to put it off as a very weird dream, until he looks at the bar itself; sitting on its counter was a large, silver gun and a note. It said only a short sentence:

 

_'Until next time, Critic. Maybe we could compare...guns.'_

 

: :: :

A/N:  This turned out a bit different than I first imagined it, but much better as well. Regardless of how things seem, there _is_ a plot to all this lol. Things are vague right now on purpose.

 

 

I hope you all enjoyed this!

 

 

Let me know what you thought!

 

 

\--PhoenixJustice  

 


End file.
